


Giving Up Harry

by Ellynne



Series: Rumple's New Mirror [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Once Upon A Time - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 08:16:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12165033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellynne/pseuds/Ellynne
Summary: They can't just take the baby Belle rescued. Really.





	Giving Up Harry

**Author's Note:**

> I had a picture up of Belle, Rumple, and Baby Harry, but I'm not happy with baby Harry. He needs to be smaller. less lumpy, and more cute-baby-ish, but it was the best I could do. But, he is wearing Gryffindor red! Must be the baby blanket Lily and James gave him (and, yes, it should have gold trim, but my crochet skills laughed me in the face when I suggested that). Then, the picture kept turning into something too large to post. 
> 
> I'm giving up on illustrations for the night.

 

Belle clutched the baby to her. “I’m not giving him up, Rumple,” she said.  Mr. Dove, pretending to become interested in some trees, stepped away from her and Rumple.  “I’m not giving him back to _those—_ ” She searched for words mean enough to describe the Dursleys, but couldn’t come up with any. Sometimes, there were problems being raised as a princess.  “—those _people._   Harry stays with us.”

“Belle, we can’t just take a baby.”

“Can so.”

“No,” Rumple said. “ _I_ can’t _._   Being the Dark One comes with rules, lots and lots of rules.”

“We can’t give him back!  They’ll be horrible to him!”

Mr. Dove looked away from the tree leaves long enough to say, “She’s right, sir. Very horrible.”

Rumple gave his henchman an exasperated look.  Mr. Dove went back to studying leaves. “I didn’t say we were giving him back,” Rumple said.  “I can’t _take_ him but I can get them to _give_ him to us.  That’s why mothers all over our world warn children about me—”

“Mine didn’t,” Belle said.

“Oh, er, didn’t she?”

“I think she would have liked you,” Belle sighed, imagining being able to take Rumple home to “meet the parents.”

A reddish color crept in under his scales.  “Uhm.  Uh.  Her mistake.  Because, I’m an evil sorcerer.  Really evil.  I trick people like the Dursleys all the time.  And I don’t feel sorry for them.  Not ever.” 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“ _Technically. . ._. Oh, wow!  Listen to those sirens!  Time to get out of here!”

A moment later, the firefighters, still busy putting out the flames billowing out of the Dursleys’ kitchen, noticed purple smoke coming from behind them.  But, when they turned around, all they saw were a few more spectators. 

“Stay back, folks,” the fire chief said. “We’ve got this under control.”

Belle was very impressed.  In the Marchlands, the best they could do when a fire started (say, for example, when the Ogres were hurling large boulders at the castle and candles and torches went flying everywhere) was start a bucket brigade.  She turned to ask Rumple how the hoses worked and gasped at how he’d changed.

“Rumple, what happened to you?”

“Hmm?” said the scaleless man with the warm, brown eyes. “Oh, nothing, dearie.  I just thought this might be easier if I blended in a bit better. Oh, and kick me if I start giggling. Mad giggles seem to bother people in this world. I can’t think why. Now, where are the Dursleys?”

His question was answered by a loud, piercing shriek.  That was one of the advantages of having Mr. Dove, Belle thought. People noticed you. 

“There they are!  Officer, those are the kidnappers!  Arrest them.”  Petunia Dursley, face red with fury, was bearing down on them, a policeman at her side.  Her husband, looking profoundly disappointed when he saw Belle had Harry, followed.

Rumplestiltskin grinned (but didn’t giggle).  “This is going to be fun,” he told Belle.  “Just let me do all the talking.” In a louder voice, he said, “Mrs. Dursley!  There you are!  We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“Arrest them!” Petunia shouted. “They kidnapped my nephew!”

“Miss Marchland grabbed the baby when the fire started,” Rumplestiltskin said smoothly.  “It’s what any decent person would have done.” He looked Petunia, outside of the fire and _not_ holding a baby, and let the policeman make his own conclusions.  “Miss Marchland in with Child Protective Services,” he added, just in case the officer’s conclusions needed a nudge. “The Dursleys have recently become guardians to Mrs. Dursley’s nephew, Harry Potter.  Miss Marchland was sent to do a home wellness evaluation.” He coughed delicately. “There have been concerns about the situation here.” He glanced at the house.  Smoke was no longer coming out, and the firefighters were heading in.  “Not without reason.”

“She started the fire!” Petunia yelled.  “She threw the tea kettle at the stove and started the whole thing!”

Belle winced. She still didn’t understand these gas stove things and she hadn’t _meant_ to hit the large container of highly flammable olive oil with the tea kettle, although she was surprised as Petunia when the kettle ricocheted and hit the stove in just the right way to start on open flame right in the middle of all that spilled oil.

“I believe Miss Marchland did throw a kettle of water at the stove when the fire began,” Rumplestiltskin said, not-exactly-lying.

The officer cleared his throat.  “And what would your parts in these here proceedings be, sir?”

“Oh, didn’t I explain?” He produced a glossy, black card embossed with gold.  “I represent the firm of Fithie, Luker, and Gold.  I am Mr. Gold.  I’m here to clear up a small matter concerning the estate of one Lily Potter, née Evans.”

The firefighters came out of the house. “It’s all right,” their chief said. “It was a big fuss over nothing.  The roast in the oven caught on fire.”

Belle, who knew the fire had not been caused by a roast in the oven, looked at Rumple.  Petunia, who knew the same thing, looked at him as well.  Rumple smiled beatifically.

Vernon Dursley didn’t notice.  “Estate?” he said.  “You’re not telling me the brat has money, are you?”

“Ah, Mr. Dursley,” Rumplestiltskin said. “Such a pleasure to meet you.  No, not exactly.  The parents of Mrs. Potter and Mrs. Dursley passed away some years ago.  I believe most of their estate was taken care of at the time.  However, there was a small trust, nothing much originally.  But, certain investments turned out remarkably well.  The terms of the trust were that it was to be turned over to Mrs. Potter when she turned twenty-five.”

As always, Belle noted Rumple was careful about not lying.  He didn’t say the inheritance had been left by Lily Potter’s parents, he only implied it.  Heavily.  Belle, who was used to this by now, supposed the “small trust” came into existence about the same time the glossy black business card did. 

He was also avoiding any hint of it being tied to wizards.  From the little Belle had seen, the Dursleys would likely accept money even if it came from “freaks,” but not without more shouting. 

Rumple went on with his story.  “In the event of Mrs. Potter’s demise before that, the money goes to her sister, Petunia, and any of Petunia’s children, biological or adopted.”

“Petunia’s children?” Vernon said. He looked at Harry with loathing.  “They didn’t say anything about the brat?”

“Oddly, no.  Perhaps it was to have been modified but they never got around to it.  Or perhaps this was some comment on her marriage.  I really couldn’t say.”

 _Or perhaps her parents had nothing to do with this,_ Belle thought.

“Of course, it’s to be evenly divided among Petunia and her children, biological and _adopted._   I understand you have a son, Dudley?  Where is he, by the way?”

“He’s enrolled at the Tiny Tyrants Preschool,” Vernon said. “Class doesn’t get out for another hour.  So, Petunia and Dudley get the money?”

“Ah, Petunia and Dudley and any _adopted_ children.  For the purposes of the trust, that would include any children you’ve accepted legal guardianship over.  Such as your nephew.”

Vernon looked as if he’d been hit over the head with a cricket bat.  “How much money are we talking about?”

Rumple took out a piece of paper and wrote something on the back.  He handed it to Vernon.  Vernon’s eyes nearly popped out of his head as he looked at the number.  “And—and we have to give a _third_ of this to—to _him?_ ”

“One half, actually,” Rumplestiltskin said apologetically. “Due to what one can only assume was a typo in paragraph three—the Evans wrote their wills _without_ any input from my firm, our involvement is entirely posthumous—half goes to any adopted heirs with the remainder divided between Petunia and any children she may have.”

Vernon was glaring murderously at Harry.  Belle glared back, glad that the clothes of this world made it much easier for a woman to fight to the death if necessary.  Mr. Dove stepped a little closer to her. Vernon looked up at him and stepped back.

“ _However,_ ” Rumple continued before this little _tête-à-tête_ could heat up, “That applies _only_ to _adopted_ heirs. The paperwork, as Miss Marchland has informed me, hasn’t yet gone through.  If it doesn’t, then only your wife and son get the money.”

“So, all we have to do is send the brat back where he came from?”

“Vernon!” Petunia gasped.  “You can’t!”

“Now, Petunia, you don’t need to worry.  Miss March, here—”

“Marchland,” Rumple corrected.

“—is quite capable of taking care of a child.  Look how well she handled things during the fire.”

“She _started_ the fire.  You’re going to trust a complete stranger—”

“Petunia, he’s wearing an Armani suit!  And a solid gold watch!  Of course, we can trust him!”

Belle added, “And he has gold cufflinks.”

“Yes, gold cufflinks!  With rubies in them!  Those are rubies, aren’t they?” he asked Rumple.

“Red diamonds.”

“Red diamonds!  How can you not trust someone wearing red diamonds, Petunia?”

Petunia looked ready to explode.  Rumple cleared his throat.  “Mrs. Dursley?  A word?”  He drew her aside.  Belle, throwing a warning glare at Vernon, just in case he decided to join them, followed after.  Mr. Dove casually stepped between Vernon and the others and studied more leaves.

“Mrs. Dursley,” Rumple said. “I know about the . . . _unusual circumstances_ of your brother-in-law and sister’s deaths.”

Petunia stiffened, her eyes widening with fear.  “You—you’re a—you’re one of _them!?_ ”

“Let us say I have had some dealings with that community, which led to my being here.  Mrs. Dursley, Albus Dumbledore may have had the best of intentions when he sent your nephew here—”

Belle, having met the Dursleys, thought, if this was the best Albus Dumbledore’s intentions could come up with, they needed some serious work.

“—however, you can see the weaknesses in his plan already.  The protection on your home keeps him safe from anyone trying to hurt him.  But, Miss Marchland was able to run off with him because she was trying to protect him.  She almost burnt your house down by trying to keep him safe.  All a wizard has to do is send someone with _good intentions_ to take him away.  And, the protection is only on your house.  Do you really think you can keep the boy locked up here for the rest of his life?”

“So, I should just hand him over to the first stranger who asks for him instead?  What do you think I am?”

“I think you are a brave woman who won’t walk away from a child who needs you,” Rumplestiltskin said. “But, it’s not enough.  You can’t do this alone.  But, I can.  If I had wanted to harm Harry, I could have done that as soon as he was out of your house.  If you want more guarantees, magical or Muggle, just ask.  I promise I’ll guard him as if he were my own son.”

He meant that, Belle thought. He wasn’t playing games with words or trying to trick Petunia.  Rumple had promised to protect Harry and he would keep that promise, come Ogres or high water.

It wasn’t the end of the conversation but it was the beginning of the end.  Petunia capitulated.  Conditions were set, and forms were signed. Promises were made.  Belle and Rumple walked away with Harry.  Mr. Dove, carrying a diaper bag Petunia had pressed on them at the last minute, followed after.

“Rumple,” Belle asked. “What did she mean when she said she expects to see a Christmas card from us each year?”

“Yule greetings,” Rumple said. “Unless it’s April Fool’s.  We should probably do something for both, just to be safe.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've always thought Petunia's one virtue was that she wouldn't give up Harry even when Dudley was nearly soul-sucked by dementors. This took a while because I couldn't just leave her out, but it writing a story where she agreed to give Harry up--and that didn't end with angst and/or her and Vernon in divorce court--was a bit tricky.


End file.
